She ran through the dark, narrow alleys of the large, unforgiving city in the cold, wet rain. The cold was so bitter that the newly formed puddles were quickly covered by a thin sheet of ice. Frigid bullets and needles mercilessly pelted down on her. Even in her thickest black sweater, her body was turning into a pillar of ice. She stopped running and turned to see if they were still after her. She saw no one.
Hopeless, she trudged towards a tiny awning for cover; only to find that it leaked. She didn't care. She knew they would eventually find her anyway. She also knew that her chances of survival were hanging by a thread that threatened to completely break at any second.
Exhausted, she leaned backwards against an old, rusting metal door, sank to sit on a dry stair of cold cement, and waited. Waited for a sound; a voice, but all she could hear was the rhythm of freezing torture all around. She waited to survive one last night; waited for someone to help her; waited for her God to save her from the cold, wet misery.
An overwhelming wave of fatigue surged through her whole body. She colsed her eyes and fell into a deep, peaceful darkness.
As she slept, she felt as if her body were drifting like an autumn leaf with every breath she took. She stirred at the movement, but remained half asleep long enough to wonder if she was flying. She drifted off as sleep encompassed her once again.
She awoke after a while, surrounded in white light. Strangely, this light didn't blind her. She didn't know where she was, but she loved it! She was no longer afraid, or on the frigid, wet streets of agony. She felt wholly relieved. She was embraced by a sweet, immense peace that she had never felt before.
Then, just when she couldn't have felt any happier than she was that moment, she heard a voice. The voice resounded like a roll of thunder, and roared like the crashing of waves along the shore. At the same time, the tone was gentle, soft and kind, like a mother comforting her child. The timbre was as beautiful and as melodious as a cello, yet as rich and as low as a double bass.
It was a voice unlike anything she had ever heard before. She looked up; and she she did the voice resounded again. It was so tender, so sweet; she was moved to tears, but these tears were soon wiped away by a soft, loving hand as the voice said, "Welcome home, my princess!"
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